Makes me want to stab a knife into my side
At the sound of a voice in my memory
Or the sudden moment of remembering a place I can never go back to
I am the kind of sick that
causes me to stop talking in the middle of my sentence because all the other thoughts rush back loudly
I am the kind of sick that makes me feel
Like a butterfly and a waterfall
Fragile flutters / crashing waves
And every tip-toe feels like it will be my last
My body feels like one of the glass jugs
The ones I've only-almost broken
on days when I forget I'm holding things
Strong in some places, fragile in more
Something hollow, with delicate openings
For all the bad to pour in and crush me from the inside
But when I catch my breath
In the quiet inbetweens
In the minutes before my body screams again
I try to remember that in Japan a broken porcelain bowl is filled with sacred gold
Pretty little edges filling broken parts
And so I fill myself with light
Sunsets, banjos, ribbons, love
And I fill myself with light to keep me whole
Don't let the bad come in You're golden
Don't let the bad come in You're golden.
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